


A Certain Kind of Bravery

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: In which Jaskier talks too much, revises some history, and explores the idea of courage with Geralt's help. Not necessarily in that order.Coda for 1x02 Four Marks
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 122
Kudos: 2081





	1. Chapter 1

In the end Jaskier did sing for the patrons of the inn in Posada, and this time there was no bread or other food items thrown his way. He almost regretted that fact, since it was frequently a source of free dinner, but then the innkeeper offered him a full plate of the best the inn had to offer and Jaskier graciously accepted.

Indeed, he did sing, but he sang a much different version of the events than the one he had toyed with on the road. In part it was because of what Geralt had said about respect, but also because he had belatedly recognized that if he announced a band of dangerous elves nearby then it was likely they would be menaced by the population of Posada.

Then again, the people of Posada had hired Geralt to take care of one measly ‘devil,’ so perhaps the elves had nothing to worry about.

Still, he felt that for the elven lute alone he owed respect to Filavandrel, so Jaskier made up a fantastic tale about a terrifying devil that had come to a violent and dramatic end at the hands of Geralt of Rivia. He used the refrain about tossing a coin to the Witcher, because he was no fool and that was an inspired bit of bardistry if he did say so himself.

As far as Geralt was concerned, he strode heavily through the door and was met by the same young man who had given him all his coin, and that young man looked at him with hopeful eyes and asked, “Did you kill it?”

Geralt replied, “It’s done.”

Just that, two words, because brevity was the soul of wit, so Jaskier heard someone say once. He didn’t actually believe such nonsense, as he had never been brief a day in his life, but the saying did certainly apply to Geralt.

‘It’s done,’ and Jaskier recognized the subtle dissembling there, since he hadn’t actually killed anything or anyone, but the issue was at least fully resolved and Geralt could sleep well at night knowing he had completed the job to the spirit if not the letter. That was, of course, assuming that Geralt cared about such things, or slept well, or slept at all.

Jaskier found himself pondering such things as he tucked into his meal at the table in the corner across from Geralt, who looked for all the world as though he were eating alone despite being in company.

“I want to say that I do appreciate what you tried to do for me back there in the cave,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his loaf of bread. “Telling them to let me go.”

Geralt grunted. “You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“Still, though. Thank you. It was my very first adventure, and I feel it went quite well.”

“You showed some courage there, in the face of mortal danger,” Geralt said, sounding reluctant to be speaking, and took a long drink of his ale.

Jaskier grinned. “I did, didn’t I? Though you needn’t seem so surprised. It takes a certain kind of bravery to sing for strangers every day, facing scorn and praise in turn, never certain which one will occur. My entire livelihood hinges on my ability to perform convincingly. One might call it courage.”

“One might call it stupidity,” Geralt replied, pushing aside his empty plate.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Courage will get you killed, bard. You’re not trained to fight. You can’t back up your threats or taunts, no matter how convincing they are.”

“Well,” Jaskier said, feeling chastened unjustly. “I still think I performed the role of sidekick adequately. At one point I did literally have your back, after all.”

Geralt did not appear to appreciate the joke, and Jaskier thought that the only reason Geralt did not roll his eyes was that it would have required more energy than it was worth.

“You should stick to singing, bard, if you wish to continue living. Stay away from adventures.” He sounded as if he did actually care just a tiny bit, though, since he was still addressing the subject. 

Geralt was watching Jaskier with that piercing golden gaze that Jaskier still found startling and perhaps always would. Jaskier felt suddenly very warm and resisted the urge to loosen his doublet at the throat.

He swallowed dryly. “If I were to travel with you I’m certain I would learn all kinds of tricks to keep myself alive. I might even be helpful to you.”

“I don’t do ‘tricks,’ and I don’t need help.”

“Then perhaps I will follow anyway,” Jaskier said, exasperated. “You can’t stop a person from travelling the same road as you. You intrigue me, Geralt of Rivia. I’d like to know you better.”

Geralt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There isn’t any better. There’s just this.” He gestured to himself, from face to waist, and Jaskier tracked his motion.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jaskier said, and he felt pinned like a moth under Geralt’s heavy gaze. “There is so much more of you I’d like to get to know.”

Just the barest lift of Geralt’s eyebrow betrayed that Geralt had heard the subtle implication in Jaskier’s words. “I don’t exist as a source of amusement for a bard to profit from.”

“That’s not why I want to know you,” Jaskier replied softly, his heart thudding in his chest.

Geralt fell completely silent, looking out the window into the darkness as though he could see something other than pitch black night. After a minute he looked back at Jaskier with a different expression, one of consideration. There were strands of hair the color of ivory hanging over his blood-streaked forehead, and Jaskier wondered if they would be soft to the touch or coarse.

“What’s your name, bard?” he asked quietly.

Jaskier was shocked to realize he had never introduced himself. They’d had an entire adventure and Geralt had never bothered to ask his name. Still, he was asking now, and perhaps that was enough. “Jaskier.”

Geralt nodded slowly.

“I want to ask you something,” Jaskier began hesitantly, stretching his fingertips toward Geralt’s bloodied knuckles but not touching them, “and I have no doubt that your answer could be a punch to the gut, since you’ve already proven that as a form of communication. But I need to know, Geralt...am I misreading things?”

The silence lasted too long, and Jaskier looked down at the scarred table. “There I go again, using that courage you warned me about. I do appreciate not being punched, though.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said.

The sound of Geralt’s voice scraping over his name had shivers rolling up and down Jaskier’s spine. “Geralt,” he replied.

“Come with me.”

Jaskier gaped for a moment and then stumbled into motion after Geralt, who was headed for the stairs without a backward glance. Jaskier felt every step upwards as a thud of his heart, his blood rushing through his veins. Geralt had been given the best room the inn possessed, and Jaskier had just a brief second to admire how clean and warm it was before Geralt was closing the door and moving into his personal space.

“You don’t smell like onions anymore,” Jaskier blurted, suddenly nervous. “Or danger. Maybe a little heartbreak.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Geralt murmured, “we’re just getting started.”

Jaskier simply couldn’t help the full body shiver at that, and didn’t miss how Geralt’s eyes darkened before he slid long, callused fingers around the nape of Jaskier’s neck and tugged him slowly forward. He rested his mouth beneath Jaskier’s ear and simply breathed, and Jaskier went weak in the knees.

“Tell me what you’d like.”

“Oh, everything, literally everything,” Jaskier moaned, clutching at Geralt’s armor to keep himself upright. There was still blood on Geralt’s face and hands, and Jaskier could not possibly have cared less. “Assuming we have all night, and that you’d be interested, I’m sure that we could cover quite a number of things before dawn.”

Geralt growled and bit at Jaskier’s neck, licking at the bite while Jaskier writhed and threw his head back even more. “Are you going to talk this much while I’m fucking you?”

“Well, I’d say no, but it’s possible I might talk even more unless my mouth is busy with something else--”

And just like that Geralt was shoving him to his knees and ripping open the laces of his breeches. He drew out a mouth-wateringly huge cock and Jaskier just stared at it.

“Sweet Melitele,” Jaskier whispered, touching it reverently with his fingertips. Geralt nudged Jaskier’s lips and Jaskier obediently curled his tongue around the tip.

“Can you take it?” Geralt asked, and there was just the slightest thread of unease there. Jaskier wondered if there had been a few partners who had changed their minds upon witnessing the impressive glory of Geralt of Rivia’s cock.

“Geralt, by all the gods I will die trying.” And with that Jaskier opened his mouth and took him in as far as he could, which admittedly was not as far as he would have liked, but then he had pointed out a moment ago that they had all night. They could work their way up to the main course and back down to the appetizers again if need be.

After a minute Jaskier became aware that Geralt was moving above his head, and he opened his eyes to see that Geralt was stripping off his armor while getting his cock sucked, and Jaskier very nearly came untouched. His world contracted to the point of the ache in his jaw and the sound of leather falling to the floor and the salt-spice scent of Geralt’s sweat rising with each discarded layer.

Buckles clicked and slid open, studs popped free of their eyelets, leather whispered against skin. Geralt set his teeth into the fingertips of his gloves and tugged them off, and through it all he never stopped watching Jaskier, and Jaskier couldn’t look away from him.

When the last layer had fallen away and Jaskier was staring up across hills and valleys of scarred muscle, he let Geralt slip heavily out of his mouth so that he could lean up and taste the skin below Geralt’s navel. Geralt let out a strangled sound and Jaskier thought it was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard.

“Leave them on,” Jaskier rasped, his throat aching, when Geralt made to remove his leather breeches and boots. He raised an eyebrow at Jaskier but did as he asked.

He hooked his hand around the ball of Jaskier’s shoulder and guided him to his feet, and Geralt’s hands were surprisingly gentle as he began to remove Jaskier’s doublet and shirt. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d go in for this sort of thing,” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull the linen shirt over his head.

“What sort of thing?” Geralt dropped a fleeting kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder and got to work on his breeches.

“Well, the...me...sort of thing.”

Geralt shrugged. “I’ve spent some of the best nights of my life with people who drive me crazy.”

“I guess I should feel honored, then,” Jaskier said. “But I’m not sure I do.”

“I don’t sleep with just anyone, you know.”

“I never suggested you did. On the other hand, have you seen you? I can’t imagine anyone on the continent saying no to you.”

Geralt stilled, his hands bracketing Jaskier’s hips while Jaskier just stood with his arms at his sides like an idiot, overwhelmed by the beauty of Geralt.

“Plenty of people have said no. You’re the first one I’ve had naked who wasn’t at least a little bit afraid of me.”

That spurred Jaskier into action, running his fingers up the planes of Geralt’s chest, thumbing his nipples, tracing his shoulders. Geralt hummed in his throat and leaned into the touch. “Why would I be afraid of you? I’m not a monster, and I mean you no harm.”

“I did punch you,” Geralt pointed out.

“That was due to a perfectly natural misunderstanding. We barely knew each other, and I know better now.”

“I’m still a butcher, Jaskier.”

“I don’t believe you would have done it if you felt you had a choice.”

Geralt shook his head but didn’t say any more.

“Anyway, my point is that you’re beautiful, Geralt, and I want you. I’m not afraid, not even of this.” He wrapped a hand around Geralt’s hard cock, trying to close his fingers around its girth.

Geralt pressed his nose to Jaskier’s temple. “You don’t smell like fear. You smell like lust.”

“What does lust smell like?” Jaskier stepped even closer, until they were chest to chest and his cock was brushing Geralt’s.

“Cinnamon,” Geralt said, and his mouth quirked up in a smile. Jaskier was so surprised to see it that he pressed his mouth to that smile, tasting ale and spice. Geralt kissed him back fiercely and Jaskier just held on for the ride, letting Geralt lead, feeling deliciously weak.

“Bed,” he murmured into Geralt’s mouth, pulling him until he felt the mattress against the back of his knees. Geralt followed him down, sliding one huge thigh between his. Jaskier couldn’t help but thrust upwards, getting lost in the sensation.

Geralt nipped at his mouth, his tongue advancing and retreating, while his fingers gripped at Jaskier’s waist and his cock, until Jaskier wanted to scream with how good it was to be held down by him, laid out like a feast.

“Oil,” Geralt said, and his voice was a low rumble almost too deep to understand. Jaskier moaned long and loud.

“In my pack,” he replied with a shaking voice, and Geralt levered himself up and grabbed the bag discarded by the door. “Under the pouch of lute strings. No the other pouch, that’s lemon candy for my voice. Yes, that bottle.”

Geralt looked aggrieved but brought the bottle. He slicked his fingers and rumbled, “Turn over.”

Jaskier moved faster than he had in years, scrambling onto his hands and knees, spread wide. It had been a long time since he’d done this, but not so long that he’d forgotten how it worked. It wasn’t the kind of thing one could forget, but he had a feeling once he’d had Geralt that everyone else would be a distant memory.

He felt oil slide down between his cheeks and hissed at the cold, but then Geralt’s fingers were pressing hot and hard inside. Geralt bit kisses down the knobs of Jaskier’s spine while he stretched him, two fingers, three, then four, while Jaskier moaned into the pillow. Geralt was characteristically silent, and Jaskier was more than happy to fill the space.

“Ah, Geralt, that’s so good, you’re so good to me. I can take it, just give it to me, I need your cock in me. Please, please don’t make me wait.”

He could feel Geralt shuddering against him at every point of contact, and he knew his words were hitting home. When Geralt finally lined himself up Jaskier let out a long sigh, letting Geralt in an inch at a time.

“Gods, you’re splitting me apart, don’t stop.”

“You have to tell me,” Geralt panted, “if it’s too much for you.”

Jaskier shook his head. Geralt’s hair swayed across his back, a roughened slide of velvet dragging across his skin. “I can take it, as much as you have to give me.”

Even as he said it, he wasn’t absolutely sure that he could, but he wasn’t afraid to try. Geralt deserved to be himself with someone, and Jaskier felt equal to the task. If he had to take every inch of Geralt’s enormous cock then so be it, there were worse things than not being able to sit for a week.

Geralt rocked into him slowly and inexorably, waiting for Jaskier’s body to adjust. When he could go no further he stopped, and Jaskier realized that he had never felt so full and so alive, heart beating in his throat and blood rushing to his head, and the pain had transmuted into sharp pleasure. He moaned and pushed back, sucking in a deep breath and doing it again. He could feel the leather of Geralt’s breeches catching on the backs of his thighs and he rubbed back against them. Geralt gasped and held onto Jaskier’s hips, pinning him in place and fucking into him as gently as he was probably able.

“I can take it, Geralt. I can take you,” he repeated, and realized he’d been whispering it for some time. Geralt placed one hand on the small of his back, soothing and encouraging.

Time stretched out into a blurred molasses slide of dark sweetness, and Jaskier dropped his head onto the pillow and focused on breathing in rhythm with their bodies.

“I wish I could see you, what your face looks like right now.”

“You can see me next time.”

Jaskier gasped a laugh. “I’m good with there being a next time.”

“Until morning, you said.” The rocking of Geralt’s hips never faltered, but his breathing was speeding up.

“Until morning,” Jaskier agreed, “after breakfast, past luncheon. I could do this all day.”

Geralt groaned, his thrusts becoming harder, bottoming out and finally knocking the words right out of Jaskier’s mouth. All he could do was breathe roughly into the pillow, his mouth open and his fingers clutching spasmodically at the bedclothes. When Geralt finally reached around to grip at his cock with oil slick fingers Jaskier went off like Aedirnian fireworks, exploding in a bright ball of sensation. Geralt followed soon after with a groan that echoed in Jaskier’s ears like a song.

Wet heat was still spreading within him when Geralt began the slow process of pulling out, as gently as when he went in. Jaskier sighed at the hollow feeling left behind, at the residual spasms pulsing through him. Geralt hissed and paused, and Jaskier knew he felt it too.

“Get up,” Geralt said, and Jaskier bit his lip. He stumbled to his feet, frowning, but Geralt was there with a bath sheet to wipe them both down and clean the worst of the stains on the bed. He pulled off his boots and breeches while Jaskier watched silently, shivering. 

Geralt flipped down the blanket and said, “Lie down.” He slid in and beckoned for Jaskier, who joined him.

“A simple ‘please’ would go a long way,” Jaskier commented, rubbing his face on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Please,” Geralt said, very slowly, and Jaskier could hear the sarcasm in it.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Jaskier,” he replied, “you don’t really mind it.” It wasn’t a question.

Jaskier hid a grin. “I don’t really mind.”

Silence reigned for a long time, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth. It was burning low and the room was dark, but Jaskier could still see Geralt’s face when he pulled back to look. He was serene and sated, and his eyes were half-lidded with pleasure.

“I like this face,” Jaskier said.

“I’m so glad, as it’s the only one I have.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” Geralt said softly.

Jaskier raised himself up on his elbows and traced a scar on Geralt’s chest. “Since we have all night…”

Geralt snorted. “I should have known you’d be insatiable.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He regarded Jaskier for a long moment. “Only that you seem to approach life with an amount of vigor I’ve rarely seen. Give me a few minutes.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows and slid his hand slowly under the covers. “It doesn’t appear that you would need it.”

“I like to enjoy the afterglow.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t argue that.” Jaskier dropped a kiss to Geralt’s lips and hummed when Geralt kissed him back. Then he hummed some more and tapped out a lazy rhythm on Geralt’s chest.

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

“You may not write a song about this.”

“Of course not! That is, I will change the names and places of those involved, at least. But Geralt, oh, it will be a ballad for the ages. I can hear it now, ringing in the hearts of all those who only wish they could feel something so sublime in their lives, such awe-inspiring grandeur of the flesh as they could never know but dream about in their heart of hearts in the dark of night in their cold beds. It will be--”

And then he could speak no more because Geralt was kissing him, and it didn’t really matter why.


	2. A Certain Kind of Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier has only until morning to get to know Geralt of Rivia, and by all the gods he's going to use every second.

The world outside the window was a hazy glow of near darkness when Jaskier opened his eyes, rousing from sleep for perhaps the third time that night. His body ached everywhere in the most deliciously exhausted way, and Geralt of Rivia was sucking his cock.

He gasped and stretched, sensation rocking over him like a wave, and Geralt grunted and pinned him down with a forearm across his hips. Geralt dragged that arm up along his belly and reached up to press his fingers on Jaskier’s nipple, not pinching but threatening to, and swirled his tongue around the head of Jaskier’s cock.

“Oh gods above,” Jaskier groaned, his every sense alive and screaming. Geralt’s hair fell like a heavy cloud, released from its ties and obscuring Jaskier’s view, and Jaskier touched Geralt’s head tentatively. When he heard no protest he slowly gathered Geralt’s hair in his fist and lifted it out of the way. He didn’t dare try to direct Geralt’s head but just the idea of it was enough to make him throb, desire building like a storm in him. Geralt stilled and then slid down Jaskier’s cock as far as he could go, just once, before pulling off completely.

Jaskier whined low in his throat and his hand twitched in Geralt’s hair. Geralt lifted his head to meet Jaskier’s eyes, pressing back against his hand, and Jaskier held firm just for a moment, just to see. Geralt’s gaze darkened and he tilted his head, as though testing that boundary himself, then shook his head.

“No?” Jaskier asked, panting.

“Not right now,” Geralt replied, climbing up Jaskier’s body to take his mouth in a deep kiss.

“I wasn’t sure you were up for more, after everything,” Jaskier admitted when they broke the kiss to breathe.

Geralt dragged his mouth down Jaskier’s chin and nipped at his throat. “Are you?”

“Are you joking? Don’t you feel what you’re doing to me?” He lifted his hips and wrapped his leg over Geralt’s calf, clinging as Geralt rocked into him. “Ahh, you’re ruining me, Geralt.”

Geralt bit down hard on Jaskier’s clavicle, just enough to sting. “You want me to stop?”

Jaskier swallowed, grabbing Geralt’s head and forcing him up to meet his eyes, power dynamic be damned. “I don’t want you to stop ever, that’s how I’m ruined. I really, really think I’ll kill you if you stop.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Geralt said, amusement and something else coloring his voice as he dipped back down to continue his stinging kisses. Jaskier wished he could see the smile that he could feel against his skin.

“Dawn is coming,” Jaskier whispered into Geralt’s temple, watching the way the light made his hair glow pearly gray.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, trailing his mouth down Jaskier’s sternum. “I’m not done yet.”

"I might not survive," warned Jaskier, gripping Geralt's shoulder.

"I'll make sure you do."

There was no logical reason why that would bring tears to Jaskier's eyes, but he found himself blinking hard to cover his reaction, and Geralt was dipping his tongue into Jaskier's navel and slipping his hand down between his thighs.

"Can you?" His fingers teased but his voice was serious.

Jaskier swallowed hard. "I want to."

"Not what I asked."

Jaskier listened to his body, worn out with pleasure and skirting the edge of pain, but he wanted, oh how he wanted this night to last. "How gentle can you be?"

Geralt stared at him with his amber eyes, now dark in the low light. "Infinitely."

Jaskier shifted his legs open as an answer, and Geralt surged up to kiss him again, slipping his fingers down to test for resistance. It was an easy slide with two fingers, stroking flesh that had seen some beautiful abuse that night. Jaskier just relaxed into the touch and breathed between slow, deep kisses.

“You’re still so open for me,” Geralt murmured, and he sounded reverent. “You really could take me again, couldn’t you?”

Jaskier smiled, slow and coy. “Watch me.”

He pushed Geralt over and straddled his massive thighs, feeling the stretch in his own legs and back. He was near exhaustion, he could tell by the way his eyes burned and his hands shook, but it wasn’t yet morning. He still had time.

Geralt’s skin was slick with sweat and his medallion lay body-warm and heavy on his chest. Jaskier stroked it with his fingertips, then explored the expanse of golden skin laid out below him. Geralt gasped and twitched when Jaskier passed over his nipples, so he did it again just to feel the slight arching of Geralt’s body between his thighs. Geralt’s cock lay hard and flushed nestled there beside his own, and Jaskier took it in his two hands, testing just the right grip.

He found the nearly empty bottle of oil on the bedside table and upended the rest onto Geralt. He took a moment to work the oil all over him, reveling with a kind of giddiness in the slick, iron-hard feel of him, that Geralt was letting him, that he was here at all.

“Don’t tease,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier bit his lip as he shifted forward, using Geralt’s chest as leverage to lift up and position himself. “I would never.”

He dropped down so slowly that it could hardly be called moving, it was more of a losing fight with gravity. It was almost too much to take, and he burned even with all the slick oil, but there was a flicker of a promise of a better fire to come. Jaskier chased that fire, rising and falling so gently that Geralt was panting and gripping Jaskier’s thighs, clearly trying not to move.

Jaskier threw his head back because he couldn’t stand that golden gaze on him anymore, arched his back because he couldn’t look anymore without giving himself away. At some point in the night this had moved past the excuse of exploration and become something much more intimate, at least for Jaskier.

He hadn’t intended it, but there it was, and he had to fight to keep every last moment of the night for himself as the window grew ever lighter.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, taking Jaskier’s hand in his and locking them together. Jaskier looked down in spite of himself and saw that Geralt was also wrecked like a downed ship, when neither of them had even seen the storm.

He felt that fire he’d been chasing flare up inside, tightening all his muscles until he couldn’t move anymore and Geralt had to do it for him. Geralt took him by the hip and guided him so gently that Jaskier was almost surprised when he came, more flash than substance after an entire night but just as devastating as the first time. Geralt gripped his hip with a shaking hand and shuddered upwards, coming inside Jaskier in a warm flood, a balm to the ache.

“Infinitely,” Jaskier whispered. “You were infinitely gentle.”

Geralt, panting and flushed, looked out the window and Jaskier followed his gaze. Streaks of pale gold were lighting up the gray, and Jaskier had never wished so hard for rain to obscure the morning, but there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

He began the slow process of pulling off, wincing when his muscles would no longer cooperate and Geralt had to help him. In a daze he lay beside Geralt and let himself be moved like a rag doll while Geralt cleaned them both up. He was so tired that he couldn’t even shift over to enjoy the afterglow, so Geralt rearranged his limbs for him and held him close.

“Fuck,” said Geralt softly.

“Fuck,” Jaskier agreed.

Silence fell between them and Jaskier could see the corners of the room now, where they had been deeply shadowed minutes before.

“Did you finally lose all your great powers of speech, bard?”

Jaskier roused himself a little in indignation. “It would take more than that to quell me, witcher. Though you made a valiant effort and I acknowledge that. I may, however, save the writing of this particular ballad for another day.”

Geralt stroked a hand down his arm. Jaskier remembered how Geralt had gripped his hand at the last, and he shivered. Geralt drew the blanket up over them and Jaskier was suddenly enveloped in an unbearably intimate warmth, so he shut his eyes and let himself be kissed, and fell asleep.

When he woke again Geralt was dressed in his black armor and adjusting the swords at his back. Hard leather and iron buckles and sharp blades, but Jaskier knew what was underneath, now.

Jaskier leaned up on an elbow to watch him, and at the door Geralt turned back. The sun was bright and set his eyes to glowing gold.

“I need to go,” Geralt said, and his voice had lost almost all of the warmth it had carried in the darkness. “You should stay.”

Jaskier smiled, just barely, feeling brave. “I’m going to follow you.”

“I know.”

Geralt turned away and then he was gone. Jaskier lay back into a bar of sunlight across the bed and began to hum a little wistful tune, composing in spite of himself.


End file.
